A Lady's Honor
by thisgrimlady
Summary: Spoilers! Camille Aeducan is going to Antiva to demand satisfaction from the elf that broke her heart. Rated M for violence.
1. Prologue

SPOILER ALERT! This story follows the tale of Camille Aeducan following Zevran to Antiva, post-Awakening.

* * *

Camille awoke to the feeling of cuddling up against something warm and soft, but it was not the body of the elven assassin she had gone to bed with the night before. It was a pillow in his place. Camille's eyes shot open and she sat up only to regret the sudden movement. Camille cursed last night's decision to attempt to drink Oghren under the table and fell backwards onto the mattress. She had allowed herself to get caught up in the celebrations of yesterday and she would pay for it today.

"Ow," the dwarf moaned, as her headache increased by the second. She let her head fall to the side, the same side where she had expected to see Zevran sleeping. After a few more moments of suffering, Camille pulled herself together and sat up again.

Through the cracks of the velvet curtains Camille could see sunlight, so she knew it was morning. Zevran was always an early riser, perhaps he had pulled on his clothing and slipped off to some other corner of the castle. He could be in courtyard practicing his aim or might be found in the armory sharpening his blades. Maybe he was in the kitchens helping himself to breakfast. Camille got dressed and went off to find him, but the first hour of searching was fruitless. Camille wandered into the Library and ran into Alistair.

Alistair, King Alistair thanks to herself, was still cross with her over the decision to allow Loghain into the Grey Wardens. For that reason every word her former friend spoke to her was dripping with disdain. At first Camille had taken it in stride but the man was beginning to wear her patience.

"Looking for the assassin are we?" Alistair asked, not even bothering to look up from his book. Camille glanced at the cover and saw that it was the same book on Ferelden history Alistair had been reading for the past week.

"Do you know where he is?" Camille responded, struggling to maintain a courteous tone. She did not like the way that Alistair's lips curled into a cold, mocking smile. He was about to tell her something bad and was relishing in the fact.

"I'm afraid you're a few hours too late. Zevran left this morning, without a word," at this Alistair looked up and shut his leather bound book, "He had a rucksack full of things and his bedroll. I assume he'll be gone for quite some time."

"Did he say where he was going?" Camille asked impatiently. She was crossed her arms, but held back the urge to tap her foot.

"Without a word." Alistair repeated, standing up from his seat.

Camille stared up at Alistair and let her arms fall on her hips, but said nothing. An uncomfortable silence lingered between the two until finally Alistair broke it with a question.

"Did you double cross him too?"

"What?" Camille raised an eyebrow.

"I mean since that seems to be your thing, betraying the people who care about you."

"Oh get over yourself, Alistair. You are such a child!" Camille snapped and she turned heel and headed for the door.

"That's no way to speak to your King!" Alistair called after her. Camille did not have to look back to know that he was smiling now; making her miserable was his favorite pass time these days.

Five days after the disappearance of Zevran and Sten was the second member of her troop to chose to leave. The stoic giant was followed by Shale, and then Leliana in the days that followed. Before she knew it, a month had passed and in that time Camille had come to realize that Zevran might not return.

"Why are you still here?" Asked Alistair over breakfast one morning. Despite his rudeness in private, this was the first rude thing he had said in public about the Hero of Ferelden.

"You'll be pleased to know that I've been summoned to appear in Amaranthine. The Orlesian Gray Wardens are already settling in. They've sent a scout-"

"Oh so you will be leaving! Fantastic!" Alistair interrupted and then took a bite of his toast with jam.

Camille thought to throw her apple at his head, but in the presence of the servants felt it best not to undermine the new king.

"Even if he is only here for his seed," thought Camille out loud, though no one else at the breakfast table seemed to hear her.

* * *

Four months later, following the deaths of both the Mother and the Architect, Camille found that life at Vigil's Keep was quickly losing its excitement. In the first week following _this _adventure, Sigrun had been the first to slip away back to her old line of work. The dwarf, with whom Camille had felt a kinship with, was quickly followed by Justice and then Anders. Both Nathaniel and Velanna had chosen to stay but Camille was not on speaking terms with either. Even if they never discussed it, the two were both sore about her decision of killing the Architect.

Were it not for Oghren, Camille would have been alone, but even the presence of her good friend was not enough to quell the feeling of lost she felt. After losing her home in Orzammar, Camille had taken to thinking of her companions as family members and wherever they slept was home. But as soon as the Blight had ended everyone else had gone their own way. With the Wardens slipping away from her now Camille wondered if she would ever have a place to call her home again.

"You're still thinking about that elf, ain't yuh?" Oghren began one evening. The pair of dwarves were sitting in the otherwise empty dining hall. Two empty pitchers sat on the table between them, but there was a third that was still half way full.

"I don't want to discuss him," Camille said with a sigh. She grabbed the pitcher and started to refill her own mug, but then shrugged and began drinking straight from the source.

"Aw, I don't see why you let that frilly little nug licker get to ya any how!" Oghren snorted before continuing, "You sure you're the daughter of Kelda of the House of Omar?"

It had been so long since Camille had heard her mother's name. She glanced up at Oghren and shrugged again. Her mother had died giving birth to Bhelen and Camille had been just a small child then. She never had the chance to really get to know the woman.

"Well the Kelda I've heard of would have stormed off after her man and dragged him back to Ferelden by the ol' trouser snake!" Oghren chuckled at the thought and downed the contents of his mug. When Oghren noticed the look of confusion on Camille's face he continued.

"Oh! Don't tell me no one told you the story of how your parents got married?" Roared Oghren.

"Enlighten me," Camille replied after another swig from the pitcher.

"Well now, the King and your mother had been doin' the whole courtin' thing for a while and everyone figured they'd get hitched. But then your father went off into the Deep Roads for awhile but before he went he was sitting in the Tavern telling everyone who'd listen that he wasn't sure about marrying Kelda. He wasn't sure if she was good enough and all that crap.

"So your mother--what a dwarf!--hunts the King down in the Deep Roads of all places and when she finds him you know what she does?"

Camille shook her head and waited for Oghren to stop laughing and finish the story.

"Your mother she--_hick_--goes up to the King and--_hick_--punches him right in the kisser!"

"That's not true!" Camille laughed in spite of herself.

"It is too! A fiery woman, your mother. She took the whole thing as an insult and demanded satisfaction. She told 'em she would cut his throat right then and there if he would not have her as his wife! The King was so impressed that marrying her was the first thing he did when he got back to Ozammar!"

Oghren slammed his mug down before adding, "Well either impressed or scared shitless!"

Camille shook her head but allowed herself to get caught up in the hilarity of the thought. She spent the rest of the evening laughing and joking, the first time she had let herself go in the last five months. But when she returned to her lonely suite she found her smile fading.

She quickly undressed, the various parts of her armor making a trail towards her bed. She let herself fall backwards onto the bed and stared up at the deep blue canopy.

"Mother, I have shamed you," Camille muttered and she wrapped her arms around herself. She was always overly dramatic when she got drunk, or so Gorim had told her once or twice before, "I cannot hold onto a man to save my life!"

A bitter laugh escaped her lips and she rolled over on her side. She felt the other side of the bed, the cotton sheets felt cold against her fingertips. How she longed for the warmth of another person on that side.

_Zevran._

Camille rolled over again to face her nightstand. She groped for the little trinket that reminded her of him. Camille had stopped wearing it the first night she arrived at Vigil's Keep, but it had never left her bedside table since. She could barely make out the gemmed earring in the dim candle light but she grasped it in her hand and squeezed it hard. If she ever saw Zevran again she would throw the earring in his face, Camille decided then and there...

* * *

The next day, when Camille sat down to lunch with the rest of the Wardens, she had an announcement to make.

"I'm stepping down as Commander for a while. I've got some unfinished business in Antiva."

A/N: Read? Review? It feels weird putting myself out there like this (creatively) but I wrote it so why not?


	2. Chapter 1 Zevran

Zevran awoke to the feeling of something cold and heavy resting against his chest. His eyes fluttered as they adjusted to the light of a new morning, and when they focused they met with a pair of vacant sea green eyes.

Mara had been her name and though he did not know her well he had recognized her as a fellow Crow the night before. Had she deserved to die, Zevran was not sure. He had argued with himself on that same topic even as he slipped the powdered substance into the lady's wine glass while she prepared the cheese and fruit. In the end, Zevran had had to do it. He could not have accept her dazzling smile and easy laugh as reassurance she would not out his presence to the Crows.

It was too late for regrets now, and Zevran gently pushed Mara's body off of his. He slipped out of the bed and went to work positioning Mara on her back. He pulled the covers up to her chin, so that she would not be caught in small clothes, and gently wiped the sticky residue that coated her parted lips with a pillow case. As a final touch he pulled her eye lids shut. At the very least Zevran had given Mara the kind of end that few assassins were ever allotted; a painless death in her sleep.

Zevran followed the trail of discarded dragon skin armor to the door, pulling on pieces as he went. He pulled his light gray cloak from the hook by the door and wrapped himself. He looked back over his shoulder at the still form in the bed and sighed. Then he was off.

Looking up into the sky, a drop of water hit his forehead.

"Ah! It's good to be home!" thought Zevran as he pulled his hood over his head.

The cobblestone streets of Antiva City were already bustling with life. The venders of the Market District had erected their stalls and the city's housewives and servants had already descended upon them. Zevran slipped through a flock of such shoppers, bargaining over the price of fresh caught cod, and managed to pull a roll from the bread stand nearby.

So far, Zevran had been back in Antiva for two weeks. Mara had been the first and only Crow he had bumped into since he docked back in the Free Marches, the last failed attempt on his life. Perhaps the Crows were getting sloppy?

"Or perhaps I am too awesome by far," thought Zevran, and he took a bite out of his sweet roll.

The family he was renting his next room from had been rather rude at the idea of renting to an elf, but a few coins had been enough to set them at ease. Zevran was overpaying, but this next location was crucial to his plans. He was down to his last few sovereigns though and realized that he would need to put his plan into action as soon as possible. The Crows would have to know soon enough that he was back in Antiva, and that would ruin his surprise.

Zevran reached the ally that lead to the _casa _belonging to the merchant and his family just as the slight drizzle became a sturdy rain. It was a quaint pink house, out of the way of the normal bustle of the city, and it had access to a little courtyard with a garden on the other side. The building itself was three stories, the merchant kept his supplies stored on the first floor, lived on the second, and rented the little attic room to make extra money on the side.

When Zevran opened the door to the casa's living quarters he was greeted by the smell of fresh _salsiccia _still sizzling in its pan. The merchant's wife shot a wary glance over her shoulder as he made his way to his room.

His room overlooked the courtyard, but more importantly it gave him a glance at the yard belonging to the handsome villa just across the way. That was where the mistress of Master Ernesto lived. Zevran's plan was to stay by the window and watch. Figure out when Ernesto came to visit his lover, how frequently, and who with. Most Crows were very selective about who they allowed in on personal matters such as this. That Ernesto put up his mistress away from the Crow's headquarters was a sign that she meant something to him. It was likely that his old tutor would slip in through the back way, alone.

"And I will be there to greet him when he comes back out," Zevran plotted aloud.

The next morning, Zevran helped himself to an apple and went out to explore the courtyard's potential. A low cut hedge was all that separated the merchant's yard from the villa's. This would be good for a quick escape, he thought. Zevran walked along the hedge, staring at the house, scouting for possible entrances.

"You're quite curious about my yard, yes?" Said a woman in a heavy Orlesian accent.

And there she was, soaked from head to toe. The white, cotton dress she wore for modesty now clung to her womanly curves and left no illusion of modesty Zevran's imagination.

"I saw you looking out your window there," the mistress added when Zevran did not respond.

Pulling himself together, and his eyes away from her chest, Zevran spoke.

"Yes you have a lovely... home and garden, I was just admiring it from a far."

"Would you...like to see it from the inside?"

"I do not wish to impose--"

"No, no! I insist." the mistress interrupted, "Come by my home at noon. I will give you a proper tour."

Zevran was not sure what to think of this chance encounter. Part of him felt that he should quickly pack his bags and find a new room to stay at. But his money pouch could only support him so much longer. Even if this was a trap, he had to take the chance and see where this went. It would have been suspicious to wear his leather armor, so instead he wore his white tunic and gray trousers that were lined with light leather on the inside. He slipped his daggers into the discrete holders in his boots and walked the long way around to the home of the mistress.

At noon, give or take a few minutes, Zevran knocked upon the door of the lady's home. A blond elven woman answered the door, eyed him suspiciously, but let him into the entrance room.

"Zevran! There you are," greeted the woman. In the time since their earlier encounter, the woman had slipped into a dress of deep red. The arms were long and the frilly cuffs of an petticoat were exposed along the edges. Her dark russet hair was pulled back into a tight bun and her face was done up with powder. Apparently, this was actually considered casual wear in Orlais.

An easy smile appeared on Zevran's face as he exchanged air kisses with the Mistress, but already he was already estimating the number of "servants" in the house.

_5 at least._

"My dear lady, you know my name but I do not recall ever learning yours," said Zevran conversationally as the two walked into salon arm in arm. The salon, like the owner and likely the rest of the house, was done in Orlesian style. This particular room had a decor of white and light blue.

"It is Camille," she responded in turn, and Zevran could feel her grasp tense around his arm.

"Ah! A lute! My lady, do you play?" Zevran asked, and as Camille let go of his arm he readied his hand to grab for his blade.

Camille walked over to the lute and picked it up from its table. Rather than playing it however, she reached for something else. A flash of silver was all Zevran needed to see before he threw himself out of the way. The blade hit the elven "servant" square between the eyes, her own blade fell to the ground with a light clatter.

As the body followed, Zevran kicked at the door, closing it just in time to block an arrow aimed straight as his throat. Camille had already thrown off her dress to reveal a set of light armor similar to Zevran's.

"It was the name thing, was it not?" Camille asked in a voice of false disappointment.

"Tisk, tisk, quite the slip up!" Zevran replied, dogging another one of Camille's sharp projectiles. Camille produced her own set of daggers from her boots and the battle began.

Camille attacked first, her blade narrowly missing Zevran's right arm and then he lunged with his left. Zevran found that Camille's abilities mirrored his own quite well. She seemed to know what he would do and how to counter it. When Zevran lunged right she slipped left and went for his exposed side. Zevran felt the slice of that one, how that piece of leather armor fell away with one clean cut.

"Ernesto said you were one of the best," Camille taunted, and Zevran could hear footsteps getting closer to the room on the other side of the door.

"Your technique is cute, but flawed," Zevran cut back, and he made a kick at her right knee. In the minor second that she buckled, Zevran managed to slice her across the face.

Camille let out a screech, more out of shock than pain, and unleashed a furry of Orlesian swear words.

The door flew open, and in stepped a human archer and two more blade wielding elves. Zevran threw himself sideways and sought protection from the nearby couch while Camille scrambled past the Crows and out of the room.

The first elf, another woman, lunged at Zevran from above, but Zevran dogged left and brought his knife up at the elf's stomach. Her exposed midsection made for the perfect target and Zevran's knife sunk in easily. Blood gushed from the wound as Zevran pulled his blade back out and left the elf sputtering on the floor.

The next to attack was the male elf, who flung himself forward at Zevran with no real technique or form. Zevran made quick work of this one, grabbing him up and slitting his throat. He managed to throw the elf around just in time for the Crow to act as a shield against the archer.

Zevran threw the body aside and sprang over the couch, catching the archer in the stomach. The human's eyes went wide with terror as Zevran stood there with only his handle exposed, and Zevran noticed just how young he was. Just how young all three of the Crows had been.

As quickly as he could, Zevran pulled the knife from the boy, who was dead before he hit the ground.

Looking back at the blood filled room Zevran eyed the other two bodies and shook his head. This had not been right. He made his way back into the entrance room.

"Why are you sending children to fight me?" Zevran called out, "Are you such a coward, Master Ernesto?"

As if on cue, Ernesto stepped out of the shadows.

"They were young, yes," the elder Crow came from behind him, "but not children. I recall you having taken your first mission when you were about their age."

"You did not pit me against a Master," Zevran spat, his blades at the ready. Ernesto, in his robes of black and crimson, had not moved for his own just yet.

"Since when did the guild declare you a Master? Was I not in town to celebrate your promotion?" taunted the Ernesto, though the smile that graced his lips did not meet his eyes. The graying man was afraid, and Zevran could see it in his eyes.

This had all been an act of sudden desperation. An act of man that knew he was going to die.

With a sudden cry, Camille appeared with her blade held high. She went for Zevran's throat, but Zevran dogged the blade and took it cut at his shoulder instead. Instinct took over and Zevran's blades found their way into Camille's chest. As Camille fell, Ernesto went to gather her.

"It is ironic that both master and apprentice should fall for women named Camille," Ernesto commented wearily.

"Just make it quick, Zevran."

A sudden pain rushed over Zevran and he grabbed for his shoulder and then his side. He had not even noticed the bleeding, and yet his blood had had already stained his trousers. Gritting his teeth, Zevran walked over to his former Master...

_A/N: _If you were wondering_, "salsiccia"_ means sausage in Italian. Well, according to google translate anyway. The rest of the story has been planned! Bare with me, it's about to be finals week next week so I won't be posting the next chapter till next Thursday. _Read? Review? Merci beau coup!  
_


End file.
